#and i was half like YES FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE WHO UNDERSTANDS THIS FACT!!!

[yardsards]

image description: screenshot of text on a cropped tiktok that says "hot take: i have never heard an album with no skips, not even from my favorite artists. all of my top 5 albums have at least one skip in them. even my" before being cut off

hmmm okay do u agree and if no, what album(s) are truly your "i listen to every song everytime" no-skips albums

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[thelostconsultant]

Puppy love

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: During his karting days, you were one of his opponents, but outside the track he was just a stupid boy who fell in love with a pretty girl. Now, after all those years, you meet again in the paddock, and he doesn't want you to leave.

note: Yes, Jos is an asshole in this (too).

“Have you seen who jumped in to do the interviews?” Charles asked with a wicked smile when he stopped next to his rival after the race. Max hadn’t really paid attention to these details until now, but now that he was informed there was something he should probably know, he looked around to see where the reporter was. “I haven’t talked to her since your dad ruined her career. But she seems truly happy now.”

That’s when his eyes fell on you, the girl who had been haunting him in his dreams for long years, the one who was glowing while talking to the cameraman. He wanted to object, he wanted to say “my dad didn’t ruin her career, she just decided to quit,” but the way you had left certainly hinted at a possible connection between the two events. Because his father’s outburst took place a week before he found out you weren’t coming back to race, and you didn’t even try to contact him ever again. 

What made it real hard was the fact he knew you were left heartbroken, and it wasn’t racing that you missed. His mother called your parents to ask them about you, and they said you had been crying in your room for days, but when the option for a call from Max came up, they were quick to shut it down. They said it would be easier for you to move on if he didn’t show up in your life again, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen in love with you, if he hadn’t met you on a vacation, if his father hadn’t found out he loved someone, maybe you would still be racing. He remembered your bright smile that was present even after a tough race, and your good mood that was often highly contagious. The boys you raced against loved you dearly, mostly because you brought a different energy into their little boys’ club.

“Max, you’re next,” he was told all of a sudden. 

He wasn't ready to face you, but there was no escape. What he had to do now was force a smile on his face and act like he was talking to someone else, someone whose presence didn't affect him half as much as yours did. But the moment he stopped in front of you and noticed a strange glint in your eyes, he had to focus on breathing in and out while you asked your first question.

After the camera was turned off, he cautiously watched you to see if you were planning to approach him, or if you seemed open to the possibility of him doing that. When you looked at him with a smile and said goodbye to the cameraman, he walked over to you with his hand folded behind his back.

“It's nice to see you here,” he said with a small, cautious smile. You nodded, but Max could see behind the cheerful look on your face, he could tell you were tense. “If I'm bothering you, just say it.”

You took a deep breath, and soon your smile changed, and it was now showing a lot more sadness. “It's been a while, that's all. Talking to you in person brings back different memories,” you admitted.

“Good or bad ones?”

Following a shrug, you folded your arms over your chest and looked down at your shoes. “Compared to the ones that come back when I see you or Charles on TV? Bad,” you finally replied. 

Max gulped upon hearing this, feeling guilty despite knowing he had done nothing wrong, that whatever happened back in the day was the result of a series of decisions made by your parents. If it was up to him, he would have kept in touch with you, doing his best to see where this puppy love would lead the two of you. Maybe you would have broken up after he got into F1, maybe you would be married by now. It was a question he had no answer to.

The best he could do now was trying to make you understand this, making you see that he wanted to fix things now, even if you would be nothing more than friends. Sure, he had no idea how much you had changed over the years, but he knew there was only one way to find out. “I know it means very little after all these years, but I’m sorry,” he said to break the deafening silence.

You nodded, then to his surprise, took a step closer to him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. My parents told me what happened exactly eventually.”

He watched you closely, trying to figure out if you were interested in a proper conversation, maybe later in private. But before he could speak up, Charles walked over to the two of you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a big smile on his face. “It’s been so long,” he said happily, earning a shy smile and a barely visible shake of your head from you.

Max bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by the sudden appearance of the Ferrari driver, but the main problem was a vivid memory from his childhood. While him and Charles had gone for blood on the track and didn’t have the best relationship off it either, you and the Monegasque were on very good terms, with you even visiting him and his family in his home. It didn’t bother him until his brain finally caught up with his feelings and he realized he had a crush on you, because then he felt intense jealousy every time his rival laid a finger on you, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder.

You then suddenly moved to give him a hug, and seeing the way Charles wrapped his arms around you made his blood boil, even if he knew deep down that he had no right to be jealous. But it was painfully obvious that the two of you were talking to each other, keeping your voices down as much as you could in the noise around you, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Then he finally let go of you and said goodbye, although the two of you agreed to have dinner in Italy next week to catch up. Max took a deep breath and thought about what to say, but before he could come up with anything, an official came over to drag him to the cooldown room, so all he could do was apologize and say goodbye, wishing he could see you again next week. According to Charles you were supposed to be there in Monza, which meant he would have the chance to talk to you.

To properly talk to you and possibly find out more about your life after you quit racing.

He knew in the cooldown room they were supposed to talk about the race, but all he could think about was asking Charles what you talked about, what was so secretive that no one else could hear it? So, in the end he didn’t say much, he just watched the recap of the race and discussed what he saw if it was standing out. Even while standing on the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd under them, trying to find you as if he was playing Where’s Wally?

On the way home, he spent his time browsing your social media accounts, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never checked them. On X, you were posting about F1 news, commenting on them as a journalist, while on Instagram you focused on sharing more personal posts, like photos of your holiday, your hobbies, or yourself in the paddock. There had been so many of those, how come he hadn’t met you before?

Having a glimpse into your life felt so nice that he hadn’t realized he had scrolled back a few years. Well, not until it turned out he accidentally liked a few of your old photos. If you hadn’t seen the notifications, he wouldn’t have noticed that. But you saw them and weren’t shy to send him a DM about it.

The next few days passed with him regularly checking his DMs to see if you wrote to him again, if you changed your mind and decided to have dinner with him, but there was nothing, so he was forced to wait for the perfect opportunity to talk to you in the paddock in Italy. How he would find you in the flurry of people was a mystery, although he had a fleeting idea that maybe their PR team could help him get a hold of you. Not like that could work, a request like this would certainly give them a stroke, assuming he was planning to give a random interview.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed you at the press conference, talking to some of the drivers behind the cameras. Your eyes were shining brightly, your smile lit up the room around you, and Max felt like he had been taken back to his childhood when all the boys at their karting races swarmed around you to get a scrap of your attention. But those were hormone-driven teenagers, while these guys were grown men, many of them in serious relationships, so he knew it wasn’t entirely the same situation.

This time Max made sure he could stick around after the interviews, hoping to get a hold of you once you were done. He approached you after everyone left and you decided to chat with someone from the crew. He cleared his throat nervously, subconsciously expecting you to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone. But your poker face was perfect, because you turned to him with a kind smile and acted like you were ready to have a pleasant chat with him. The crew member left you alone, so only the two of you were left there. 

“You either don’t understand the word no, or you just learned to completely ignore it because you always get what you want,” you said with a sigh, the smile long gone by now. 

He let the last part of the comment go past his ear, instead he just took a deep breath and began to massage the back of his neck. “Can’t we have a pleasant conversation? Just put everything aside, forget about our shared past, and let’s treat this as a chance for a fresh start.”

You watched him with a thoughtful hum for a while, then nodded. “All right. What would you like to talk about?” you asked with a curious look in your eyes. 

“Us.”

“There’s no such thing as us.”

“Too bad, because that’s exactly what I want,” he was quick to inform you, mentally kicking himself for being this straightforward, even if it was true. Because he wanted to see if you would be interested in the 2.0 version of your relationship, the chance to see how your young love would work out in your adult lives. “Are you seeing anyone?”

For a moment you hesitated, but then you shook your head. “No. I don’t really have the time for that,” you replied honestly. Before Max could speak up again, though, you began to talk once more. “But I’m a reporter here, dating a driver would be… unethical. I can’t play favorites,” you explained. 

Max took a quick look around, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. “We can figure that out later. Let’s focus on step one, which is going on a first date. Tonight? We can turn to room service to help us out if you don’t want to meet somewhere public,” he told you. 

“So you want me all to yourself in your hotel room?” you asked with a teasing smile. 

He was sure as hell he blushed, because the idea of what you were suggesting hadn’t occurred to him. Having you alone in his hotel room wasn’t something he consciously planned out, he only wanted to meet you somewhere away from the curious eyes. “It’s not like that,” he told you defensively. 

“I know, don’t worry. Send me the when and where,” you said as you patted his shoulder. “See you later, Max.”

Nodding, he watched as you walked away from him. He didn’t say a word–no, he couldn’t say a word. His brain was too busy replaying the way his name rolled off your tongue, that sweet, soft tone of your voice as you said goodbye. With his mind still lost in a pink haze, he returned to their motorhome to gather his things and call it a day. He couldn’t wait to meet you, that was all he could focus on. 

A few hours later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his foot nervously tapping on the floor while he waited. You could be here any minute, and waiting was the worst part. Well, maybe the conversation wouldn’t be that much better, but he could still hope for the best. So when half an hour later there was a knock on his door, his lips curled into a wide smile and he rushed over there to let you in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was held up in the media center,” you apologized the moment the door closed behind you. 

Max had to take a deep breath to calm himself. You being close to him again brought back feelings he thought he had long forgotten, and he wanted to give you a kiss, a soft kiss to test the waters with you. But he had to behave, he had no idea where the two of you were standing right now. “It’s okay, don’t worry. So, dinner?” he asked after a short break, giving you a smile. 

Food seemed to get you in the mood to chat, because as the two of you enjoyed the various dishes he ordered, you started to tell him about your life after everything that had happened back then. You finished high school like a normal kid, went to college to study journalism, and you managed to get jobs at various places that were related to motorsports, especially F1. That was your dream, to once work with this world, but you were quick to clarify knowing he made it here didn’t give you the idea. 

He tried to hide the cocky smirk that wanted to show up on his face, because he was sure what you said weren’t true. A voice in the back of his mind told him you wanted to see him again, that you wanted to get back what had been taken from the two of you all those years ago. After all, why wouldn’t he think that? It didn’t take much convincing to get you to meet him tonight. And if he was delusional? At least it was a nice thought. 

It was then his turn to talk, so he told you stories that you had probably never heard, about himself, about the grid, about everything, really. If you asked questions about his family, you focused on his sister and mother, but you were mostly interested in his cats and hobbies. As you told him, you couldn’t understand how he ended up being such a cat dad, but it certainly suited him. 

“Charles said he doesn’t get murderous thoughts about you several times a day lately,” you suddenly noted with a short laugh. 

Clearing his throat, Max tilted his head to the side. “You talked to him?” he asked casually. 

You nodded and took another bite of your pasta. “Yeah, we had dinner yesterday. I remember how the two of you were back then, I was wondering what the situation was now,” you said with a shrug. 

A wide grin crept on his face upon hearing this. “So you asked him about me.”

“It was just one question, don’t get too cocky,” you pointed out with a roll of your eyes. “But I’m glad you kinda get along now. It’s nice to see that.”

Max flashed a smile at you, then returned his attention to his dinner. For a while you both ate in silence, but then you got rid of the plates and he found himself wondering what to do next. So he just looked down at his hand and moved it closer to yours, letting his little finger brush against yours as if you were back in your teenage years. You let out a laugh when you noticed, and you looked at him with a kind smile. You weren’t as cold as you had been earlier today, now you seemed to have warmed up to him, ready to give him a chance to show you what he wanted. 

So, he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss you, cautiously moving his lips against yours to make sure he didn’t scare you away. It took you a few seconds, but you eventually eased into the kiss, one of your hands even moving up to his face to keep him close. He couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle that drew a questioning hum out of you. Max shook his head, then he dived in to kiss you again, but at the same time he let his hand wander under your shirt, even though he could have expected what happened next. 

Because you pulled away and pushed his hand away from your body. “Stop, don’t… I shouldn’t even be here, I should just go, and–”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’m sorry. If you want to slow down, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, okay?” he asked you, his voice desperate. For a minute or two you remained completely silent, you were just watching him with doe eyes, as if you were trying to process what just happened. “Please, just stay,” he said quietly.

You hesitantly took his hand and gulped loudly as you gathered your thoughts. “Listen, it’s complicated. I already told you, I shouldn’t date drivers, but,” you began, but fell silent without finishing the sentence. 

Max cupped your face and rested his forehead against yours. “One step at a time, all right? We’ll figure out if this could even work between us, then we’ll decide how to move on,” he said with a soft smile. When you nodded, he kissed your nose. “Good. Do you want to stay with me and cuddle a little, or would you rather go?”

“We just cuddle, right?” you asked with a thin voice. When he nodded, you let out a soft sigh. “Okay, just for a little while, then I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t leave. The next morning he woke up to you sleeping soundly with your head on his chest, snoring softly while you were lost in your dream world. Max couldn’t stop grinning, he was way too excited and happy to keep a straight face. It felt so nice, so natural, that he wondered how long you would be against it. You clearly wanted this as much as he did, but if you needed time, he was willing to give it to you.

As you lay there, he remembered that vacation all those years ago, when your parents not-so-accidentally bumped into his mom. His first date in a local cinema, watching a movie that was dubbed and neither of you could fully understand it. His first kiss in that movie theater with a girl that was special enough to catch his attention. The way you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder one night when your parents talked a little too long in a restaurant on the beach. 

And he was hell-bent on going back to that town to experience everything again as adults. All he needed was you softening enough to let him take care of you in front of the whole world.

[snifferish]

Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.

I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment

--

When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.

However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.

So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.

I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.

I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.

That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.

However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.

I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.

I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.

Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.

Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.

--

I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.

So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.

I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).

I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.

Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,

Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?

[amethxxt]

i'm ranting about descendants again and this is a long one

Alright, I talked a little bit about this on twitter literally yesterday (https://x.com/amethxxt/status/1798768561613361458) but I wanted to do it here too, so here we are!!

I think everyone has seen these pictures by now. It's from Descendants new book "The World of Auradon: Royals & Villains".

Now, at first, I got really excited (in a way, I still am) because it'll probably give me more material to use in my fics. Also, Uma looks absolutely stunning, so I immediately began reading her page and... Well, it's not the nicest things, right?

Like I said on twitter, I can't be the only one who sees the majorly different ways they talk about Uma and Mal.

With Mal, they start saying she's a "confident natural leader", and like- no, she's not, far from it.

I think the best version we got from Mal was on D1. She was such a good character and that's when I think the writers succeded the most with her - I believe it was hard to find someone who actively disliked or simply hated her.

When D2 came out, things went slightly downhill. Mal's inner conflict of not being the picture perfect Lady of the Court and feeling that the odd one out because she wasn't doing well in Auradon when compared to her friends is very realistic.

The pressure that she was feeling to be perfect and all the new things that came with being the King's girlfriend makes you understand why she was so anxious and wanted to leave. Now, I think we should all understand that this makes Mal a very insecure person.

She's insecure, she's flawed and runs away the first chance she gets because everything becomes too much. And if they wrote her like that, how is she a confident natural leader?

When the Core Four and Ben go after her, it's when things begin to change. Mal has a few moments in this movie: running away and leaving just a note to her best friend, claiming Dizzy was going to be fine when Evie felt sorry about leaving a child in the abusive place they all grew up in, betraying Uma's trust. Yeah.

I'm gonna make it very clear that I really like Mal as a character. I criticize her a lot because the writers started putting her in a pedestal, overpowering her and trying to erase anything that could be seen as bad.

Why would they have Mal apologize for using a love spell on Ben when they make such a cute couple and would be endgame anyways?

It gets worse in D3. I remember watching them announce that Hades was Mal's father and being like "No fucking way" because you want this girl to be not only half-fairy but a half-god?? Was this the only way to have his ember in the story?

Well, I think we got used to that plot after a while, but then - Oh, Mal's also Lady of the Court, she'll be a part of the decisions that concern the Isle of the Lost and a voice for the other VKs.

Yes, Mal is "a confident natural leader" who turns her back on her people and comes up to the idea of closing the Barrier for good to protect Auradon citizens.

Why do they refuse to bring up the fact that it was her idea?? Nevermind the fact that her and Ben weren't married yet, she was not the Queen and had absolutely no power to make that decision. They make Ben so useless, a King with no voice because he's not the main character, right?

So she makes a decision that's not up to her and proceeds to lie to all of her friends, makes empty promisses to both Celia and Uma, and when shit hits the fan, nothing happens.

Having Evie confront her about it is one of my favorite scenes, but what are the consequences? I understand that it was the final movie, but it's so rushed that makes everyone else feel out of character.

Mal and Evie can be the best of friends, but you can't tell me Mal would be like "I was wrong, I have to be a voice for everyone and I shouldn't have lied" and Evie would be just "Ok, perf".

And what about the opposite? When Mal betrays Uma for probably the third time, Uma has no trouble forgiving her? Of course they don't mention what happens in the books, they don't mention Mal trying to hurt Evie (or even get her killed lol) and they don't mention the "shrimpy" incident with Uma.

They don't talk about Mal's wrong doings the same way they talk about Uma.

Uma, according to the new book, is a "confident and resourceful VK with a major mean streak". Sorry, Uma has a mean streak? I don't think so. What Disney and Descendants keep doing is use the definition of a villain for a character who's an antagonist.

Villains have malicious intentions, they are evil. You're gonna tell me the girl who simply wants for all the children to get off the Isle, a place they were forced to live in along with murderers and other criminals, some of those who happened to be their parents, all while surviving off of the garbage that came from Auradon, is the evil one?

That is not to say Uma doesn't make mistakes or does bad things. Mal and Uma have the common point of using a love spell on Ben, which is awful and should be acknowledged as that, but they only do it in Uma's case.

"When Mal and her friends successfully freed Ben, Uma took it one step further by putting Ben under a magic love spell" x "She [Mal] used spells to mess with other students, to convince Ben that he loved her, and to change herself in order to fit in as Ben's girlfriend. But once she realized she needed to ditch the spell book and learn to survive without magic, she was able to become the queen she was always meant to be"

Those... are not the same to me. They detail every thing Uma does during D2, making it clear that using a love spell was worse than the previous actions of kidnapping him, but with Mal it almost feels like they excuse her actions because, eventually, she learned that magic wasn't the way to become who she was meant to be.

Also, what do you mean Mal felt guilty about the other VKs who were left behind? Mal didn't even look sad when her and Evie were leaving Dizzy behind! Evie was the one to come up with the idea to bring more children to Auradon, and when that magically turned into the VK Day (my arch-nemesis plotline along with Merlin Academy), she didn't look worried at all that it would them so long to free all the kids if they were going to pick 4 each time.

And again, her idea to close the Barrier for good (with no way in or out) would mean that eventually, everyone left in the Isle would die. I know it's Disney, and they would never make that happen, but if you're not going in to even leave your trash there (aka their food source), yeah, they're all dying.

Now, with Uma, they point out how she wanted to escape and get revenge on Mal, but like...... not really? Of course she mentions in D2 how she wants Mal's new turf and tries to make a deal with her to leave with her crew, but when she's actually free and we get into D3, it's been months (I think) and while Auradon's scared she's going to do something, we find out Uma spent all that time looking for a hole in the Barrier to get the kids out.

When she makes another deal to help Mal, all she asks for is the guarantee that every kid who wants to leave the Isle is able to do so. Who breaks that promise? The "villain" with the major mean streak or the confident natural leader?

I'm not saying that Mal is real villain, because she's really not. But she's far from how they describe her and if you're gonna tell me she's a natural leader, I better not see her bringing down the Barrier, letting both the kids and villains out, and acting like it's the right thing to do.

VK Day wasn't the answer to free the innocents, but bringing down the Barrier isn't it either! Mal doesn't "help convice Auradon citizens to accept all VKs into Auradon Prep" she just decides to do that lol

And again, that decision is not up to her, she had no legal right to do it. She was just Lady of the Court and nothing else.

Like I said on twitter, Disney and Descendants like Uma because she's a fan favorite, she was one since they announced her as a character. But they insist on the idea that Auradon changed her for the better, as if she was never someone who fought for what was right. She's not perfect either, but they can't write about her in a way that makes her look better than Mal.

How did Mal stop her at the end of D2? Mal didn't do anything, they were fighting, Ben made a speech, Uma turned around and left. That was it.

How did Auradon transform her? Of course they are implying that because of Rise of Red and her becoming the new principal, and even though this plot still kinda confuses me, it still seems like all the wants is for Auradon to be a fair place that doesn't discriminate against anyone.

I now this is getting too long, but I really like ranting about descendants. It's my comfort franchise but there's so many things wrong with it lol

And I also know I'm probably looking too deep into it, but I don't think I'm the only one who sees the ways Disney has always treated Uma and Mal differently.

I want to get this book and see if there's anything else about them. I really wished Disney and Descendants treated Uma better, though.

[k-pepp]

With the final season of YR coming up, I’ve been thinking about Wille’s journey again. Because he’s 16, we won’t know if he actually chooses to renounce his title or remain in his role as future king, but I have a feeling this season will give us an indication which way it will go. So, before we get any type of confirmation, I want to get my current thoughts out. I’m aware that a lot of YR Tumblr skews toward King Wilhelm so my pro-renounce post might not resonate with anyone and that’s ok. I just want to put all my thoughts together before S3 comes along with something that totally blows all my opinions and assumptions out of the water 🙂 I understand the idea of wanting Wille to be King because he could be such a great leader. He is kind and compassionate and can be good at taking charge. BUT just because a person could be good at something, doesn’t mean they should be forced to do it. My number one reason for being in favor of Renouncing his Title is the sheer fact that Wille doesn’t want to be King. He doesn’t want the title. He doesn’t want that life. Wille has been shown a multitude of times talking about how he struggles with the duties that come with being a prince. Whether it’s with Erik:

Or August:

Or Boris:

(honestly, this boy will spill his guts to anyone who is willing to even half listen to him. My god. I’m so glad they gave this poor kid a therapist) He's also talked about how he feels trapped in this position. For him, to renounce the throne would be freedom. Freedom to live a life he actually wants.

Even the mere idea of staying in his current position makes him physically ill.

Some people take the end of episode 2x06 to mean he’s moved beyond all that and accepted his role as the future king. I didn’t personally see it that way. I saw it as a combination of a few things. 1) When come face-to-face with it, he just couldn’t let August give the speech (But the fact that he was initially willing to let someone who distributed revenge porn against him become king really speaks to how much he definitely doesn’t want that position) 2) He didn’t want Simon to have to compromise his happiness and give in to a situation he didn’t actually want 3) He didn’t want to hide anymore. He wanted to be himself. Wille is a person who craves authenticity. Which brings me to a bigger point… Life as the Crown Prince / King is inherently inauthentic. One of the main pro-King arguments is that he would blaze his own trail and do things his way. But how? Being a member of the royal family is a job. The basic responsibilities of that job are to do things like diplomatic visits, hosting events, being part of photo ops, schmoozing with people… pretty much all things having to do with putting on a public persona. It’s great that he could be himself in the sense that he would be the first queer Crown Prince / King, but the baseline duties he would have to fulfill are still inherently inauthentic. And I don’t know how he would “do it his way” aside from just not doing it. He hates putting on fake smiles

the photo ops

the schmoozing with people

Erik even told Wille, the way to get through that stuff is to just pretend to be someone else.

We know he’s capable of doing it. We saw how charming he could be at Parents Day weekend. But that was because he wanted to sit with Simon and impress Simon’s mom. Other than that lunch, he mostly hid in his room. And it goes back to my original point. Just because someone may be good at something doesn’t mean they should be forced to do it. (And yes, even if he walked away from the line of succession, he could still have familial obligations, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near the level of what is expected now) At this point, Wille is only continuing as Crown Prince because of a commitment to his family. Mainly Erik.

He doesn’t want to let him down or feel like he’s betraying his legacy. To Wille, Erik was perfect. We only saw two full conversations between them and in both conversations, Erik was telling Wille to get his act together because “it’s not that hard”.

That quote is probably something he told Wille a lot. So much that Wille later regurgitates it to Boris. Three different times.  

Going on to say that Erik could handle everything easily.  

Based on the fact that Erik was going to Boris, he probably wasn’t managing everything with ease. But in Wille’s perception, he was. Wille is basically chasing a ghost. Self-imposed pressure of unattainable perfection. He bears a guilt that pushes him to want to be someone he thinks Erik would be proud of.   The problem with that is, Erik was a monarchist. Maybe he struggled a bit (which is why he went to Boris), but based on the things he would say to Wille, he backed the monarchy / family completely.

Ultimately, I just want Wille to be happy. Maybe S3 will completely change my outlook and I’ll root for him to become king because that’s what he wants. But right now, I think he only wants it out of a sense of obligation to Erik. And honestly…maybe my most controversial opinion…if he did stay in his position because of Erik, he probably wouldn’t change that much within the institution. I mean, he couldn’t change much even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t be allowed to do big things without the consent of the Swedish parliament and maybe a public referendum. And I doubt he’d even have the capability to make small changes. As already pointed out by @piebingo in this great post, Kristina didn’t actually want August to be next in line. But she was overruled. The Royal Court has a lot of power and making any sort of reforms or independent decisions is not that simple. Especially within an establishment that relies on keeping everything exactly the same. But even if that weren’t true. Even if Wille could snap his fingers and make all these huge changes… part of me doesn’t think he would. I know a lot of the folks who are pro-King Wilhelm want him to become the king just so he can completely destroy it from within. But to me, in Wille’s eyes there would be no bigger betrayal to Erik’s legacy than Wille burning the institution to the ground. And if he wants to live up to Erik’s legacy. Not betray him. Not let him down. He will act as he thinks Erik would act. If Wille becomes king because of Erik, he’ll maintain the establishment because of Erik. And he would be miserable doing it. Miserable and without Simon. Yes, my other controversial opinion. If Wille stayed as king, Wilmon wouldn’t make it. Simon is described to us as a socialist. One of his introductory scenes is him calling the monarchy the country’s biggest welfare scammers. I can’t imagine Simon giving up his musical dreams to join an institution that he hates. I also can’t imagine Wille letting him do that. That was such a big part of Wille’s growth in Season 2. Wille wouldn’t let Simon sacrifice his happiness for the sake of his own happiness (being with Simon). Even if Simon didn’t end up pursuing something in music, he made it clear in his talk with Rosh and Ayub that he wants to work hard to make something of himself.

I mean, look at him. Look at this sweet baby angel’s face when he’s told he has an opportunity that will open doors to his future. I can’t imagine him giving up his ambitions or autonomy to become prince consort. Having to live every day under royal rules and protocols. Maybe he would. I personally can’t see it. And finally, I know a main reason people like the idea of King Wille is because we like the idea of a queer king. But as much as we all want queer representation; I don’t think it should be anybody’s responsibility to be the political representation that people want to see. Wille shouldn’t be in a position he hates because he’s queer. A queer person living their life and getting out of a toxic situation is also good representation. A person can’t fix the problem by becoming part of it. Having him be the face of an institution that’s been about exploitation and oppression isn’t going to solve it. It's always been said by Lisa and Edvin that Wille’s problem is not that he’s queer. It’s that he’s a prince. Everything about what’s making him unhappy is about him being prince / the future king. Him walking away from his title would be about him escaping a future that would make him miserable. Personally, that’s what I’m hoping for.

[parksunghoonism]

rant about @/drunkhazed.

If you haven’t seen yet, a writer—a real person—on this app, here, in this godforsaken place, posted a teaser to a fanfiction she was writing that would be about the k-pop group Enhypen. Now, you may be wondering, ‘Well, what’s so wrong with a teaser?’ What’s wrong about the teaser is the fact that the fanfiction was quote ‘inspired’ by the real life case of Lyle and Erik Menendez.

Yes. About the two brothers who went through emotional and sexual abuse by their own father. Yes. About the two brothers that while being traumatized, their own mother stood by and did nothing to protect her own children.

This person says in their most recent post: “My original plot was based around 1 member only, but after watching documentaries about the case, I was inspired to make this a story about brothers.”

So, what you’re saying is, you fucking knew about the case beforehand, and yet still chose to start writing the fic. So, what you’re saying is, even after gaining more knowledge about the case, you again still chose to continue to start writing the fic, and in doing so, chose to even develop it more.

Oh, and another thing, this person also says: “I am behind the brothers 10,000% personally, and hope for their peace.”

Now, someone explain to me this, because maybe I’m a little stupid, maybe I’m the one who just can’t understand and I’m simply being a judgmental prick. But, why would someone write a fanfiction inspired by the trauma of people who they say they hope for peace for? Because you’re actively using their past to write fanfiction about more real people.

Currently, the brothers, Lyle and Erik Menendez, are 56 and 53 years old. They were first arrested back in 1990 when they were 21 and 18 years old. That means, the brothers have spent damn near half of their lives as criminals, and they were going to die as criminals after they were given a life sentence.

Finally, in the replies of this post, this person had told another commenter under a reply—of which I cannot see, because the original poster removed it: “There is nothing else to be said.” With this ‘😐’ emoji added at the end.

Yes, there is.

Why do claim to ‘apologize’ when you remove replies? Why do you claim to ‘apologize’ when you’re going to delete the post? Why do you claim to ‘apologize’ when half of the replies in which people are rightfully calling you out, you have removed? Why do you claim to apologize when you are later going to delete the said ‘apology’? You’re not apologetic, you’re doing damage control.

Moving on, how is people seeing your face relevant to the fact that you’re trying to apologize about something? I seriously don’t get that, and I doubt that needed to be said, unless you were trying to gain some sort of sympathy from other people.

My final point, and quote: “Everything else being thrown in, is truly just slanderous, and hate to say—bullying.”

Now, what I am about to say, is going to be a tad vulgar, so, if you don’t like that, I apologize, but, I am incredibly upset at the time that I am writing this.

Nobody, in their right god damn mind, gives an actual fuck if you feel like you’re being bullied, when you were fully aware of what you were doing, when you decided to write your shitty-ass ‘work.’ You, yes you, chose to continue to write your stupid fucking fanfiction, even after you had learned more about the case of Lyle and Erik Menendez.

Because while you’re talking out of your ass on the internet, those two poor men have to sleep in a disgusting cell, while their families beg and plead for their release.

You knew what you were doing. You just did not care. And that, makes you an absolute pathetic excuse of a human being in my eyes.

— Have a nice day everyone. ❤️

[restinslices]

I don’t know if I requested this already but how do you think the Lin Kuei bros would react when each of them got their first gf?

It’s 5am but I’m avoiding sleep cause sleep paralysis been kicking my ass recently so here we are. I didn’t know if you were imagining a certain age or how detailed you wanted it so they’re all at different ages

Bi-Han

Bi-Han doesn't have that much experience when it comes to dating even if he's the oldest brother 

Growing up he was taught to mainly focus on his clan since he'd be the next Grandmaster so naturally dating is something that was at the back of his mind 

When he got his first girlfriend he'd probably be older. So he's mature when it comes to handling himself but he's not mature when it comes to romantic relationships 

I think the first week would be the hardest because he's both nonchalant but also worried if that makes sense

Nonchalant because he doesn't physically show any emotion besides disdain but also worry because whenever he hears about new relationships, people are always so giddy. They're glowing. They're jumping up and down and are cuddled next to their partner all the time. 

Bi-Han though? He doesn't do any of that. He's not sure what he should do and since he doesn't know, it makes him worry that maybe he made the wrong choice. Maybe he took the bit of affection you gave him and ran with it and it went outta hand 

After that first week though, he still wants to be with and around you so he starts to relax and realize he just reacts differently to things 

Some things he would struggle with since this is his first relationship. He'd struggle with the idea of being around his partner so often. Does he enjoy your presence? Yeah. But he also wants a lot of alone time 

Idk how long his first relationship would last. He gives me both “we're in this forever” and “forever isn't realistic” vibes. 

I honestly don't think he'd change much, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that he's a grown man. He's past all the intense teenage emotions. 

I don't even think his partner would notice a difference tbh. He trails behind you more but besides that, he still acts like your friend Bi-Han which isn't necessarily a bad thing 

Because it's his first relationship, I don't see him initiating things like physical touch that much. I think his partner would have to either ask or hint at it 

Cutsey things just don't come naturally to him. 

Is he happy about his first relationship? Absolutely. He just doesn't see the big deal with certain things like hand holding or other romantic expectations. Honestly I can see that being the cause of his first relationship ending depending on who it is but if it's someone that's on the same wavelength or understands lack of affection doesn't mean lack of love then I could see it lasting forever. 

Kuai Liang 

Kuai Liang was probably the first to start dating 

Does he have responsibilities? Yes. But that wouldn't stop him from experiencing certain things, even if he had to do it sneakily. 

He was a young teenager when he finally got his first girlfriend. She was apart of a nearby clan and although he was told many times not to focus on women, he couldn't help it. 

It was a simple friendship but it turned into something more. A secret relationship no one could know about

I think Kuai Liang would be happy to finally have a girlfriend. It's something else in his life that gives him happiness besides his family. 

Also this is a teenager so he's geeked as fuck. He tries to appear all calm and cool but it wouldn't really work 

Would always try to sneak away to see her. He wants to spend as much time with her as he can. Half of it is because he's a teenager, half of it is because he genuinely likes her. 

I also think he likes exchanging gifts. It gave them both something to remember the other bye

As a young boy, he wants to tell everyone but because of circumstances, he can’t. Besides that though I just honestly think he’s happy waking up everyday knowing he’ll see her even if it’s only for a few minutes.

She was a break for him. He's always the mediator between Bi-Han and Tomas. He always had to train hard so he could assist Bi-Han when he became grandmaster. When he was with her he was relaxed. 

Enjoys the company that comes with having a partner, even if a lot of the times he's too busy to see her 

He knows he doesn’t know much about relationships, but that’s ok. Life’s a journey and he’s willing to learn and communicate for this girl

Considering it says “first relationship”, that means it doesn't last 

I think the reason would be they eventually get caught. His dad has a tighter leash on him and she's sent to a different area her clan occupies 

He wouldn't take this well but there's really nothing he can do

Takes him awhile to get over even if it was some silly teenage romance according to others. 

Tomas Vrbada

Tomas gets into his first relationship in his late teens to early twenties

I can see him telling Kuai Liang immediately and asking for advice 

I can see it being a friends to lovers kind of thing. She's an earthrealmer in the know about all the realms and stuff and knows Madam Bo. Tomas is easy to like so they become friends then he asks her out on accident 

Tomas, like Kuai Liang, would be happy to have a significant other. He'd like having a girlfriend because this is his person. He became a Lin Kuei because the grandmaster felt shame about his clan murdering Tomas’ family. To Tomas, that's not him actually wanting him. It's guilt 

Having a girlfriend though means she's with him because she loves him. She actually likes him and chose him.

Very proud boyfriend. He’s surprised he has someone to call his and thinks she’s everything 

He's younger so he's not really confident which I think would show. He constantly wants to be around her out of insecurity. He's worried that she'd leave and find someone else 

He thinks he’s not good enough for anything

Can we blame him? He has Bi-Han constantly making him feel shitty. Sure he’s not the only reason Tomas is insecure but he’s not helping

He's also paranoid about anyone else he loves being hurt. People get hurt, he understands that but he cannot say goodbye to someone else prematurely. Especially someone that makes him so happy

Since it's his first relationship, he doesn't know how to properly communicate these feelings 

He genuinely likes this person and wants to be something serious. The problem is all this hovering and worry could cause problems in the relationship and lead to it ending. 

His solution would be trying to change himself 

Letting go is not something he wants to do. This person makes him happy so why should he? He could definitely change and do better. 

And since this is his first relationship, he’s nervous something like this won’t happen again. 

Unfortunately for him you can’t get rid of insecurities easily and you have to love yourself before loving anyone else

You'd expect him to have the longest lasting relationship but he probably wouldn't. The relationship wouldn't end with harsh feelings but he'd still be upset by it and it'd encourage him to work on himself 

I promise you Kuai Liang is my favorite brother. Idk how Bi-Han got around 440 words and him and Tomas got around 380- I also plan on writing angst after I eventually go to sleep so tune in

[cambria-writes]

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else. 

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you.  You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.” 

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips. 

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it. 

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?” 

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch. 

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?” 

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression. 

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights. 

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you. 

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks. 

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball. 

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed. 

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance. 

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification. 

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you. 

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?” 

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you. 

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.” 

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.” 

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!” 

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away. 

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and  the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”. 

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually. 

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door. 

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right? 

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running. 

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?” 

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist. 

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles. 

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back. 

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?” 

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs. 

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough. 

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change. 

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact. 

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough. 

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way. 

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes. 

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady. 

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn. 

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief. 

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue. 

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

Tag List

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink @wandabillywrites @leftovers-and-headrubs @pauphs @gamingfeline @racoonkitty @dogmatic255 

[dearestvante]

wrong number; kth.

in which your boyfriend is ignoring you, so you have to get creative.

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: non idol au, established relationship, fluff, lilbit of angst warnings: mild swearing word count: 873

a/n. just a little something before valentine's ends <3 enjoy!

the pounding on your front door got louder with every second you left it unanswered. you had a faint idea who might be behind it, so you weren’t exactly rushing to open it up.

“alright, i’m coming!” you yelled, then after fiddling with your keys for a few more seconds, you finally opened it. your senses didn’t fail, behind the door it was taehyung, your noticeably pissed off boyfriend. you can’t get a word out, he’s already barged in, standing in front of you with both hands on his waist.

“sure, come right in.” you close the front door and face him, arms crossed in front of your chest.

“what the fuck was that text y/n?!”

oh, yes. the text. the two of you had quite a big fight a few days ago, which resulted in him storming out of your apartment in the middle of the night. he has been ignoring all your calls and messages ever since, therefore in order to get his attention, you had to get a little creative. so you had the genius idea to send him a text, which suggests that you had fun with someone last night and you would like to do it again, and make it look like it was meant for someone else. and after half an hour of sitting around, staring at the message, you hit send eventually. your efforts didn’t go in vain, cause he replied within minutes. gotcha, you thought before hitting him with the “oh, sorry, wrong number.” that sentence definitely set your plan in motion, cause he’s here, and he’s talking to you, although it’s not about making up. not yet, at least.

“it was nothing, forget it.” you reply, trying so hard not to smile.

“nothing?! do you, perhaps, need a reminder that we’re still together?” his eyebrows raise in confusion as he takes a small step towards you. he is a bit intimidating, but good god, he looks so attractive.

“no, but you might!” you quickly shake away your wondering thoughts and focus on settling this conflict, cause it’s been bothering you. and you were hoping that he feels the same, he’s just too stubborn to make the first step.

“me? i’m not the one “having fun” with others.”

his words hit you so hard, you drop your act almost immediately. “did you really think that i— oh my god, taehyung!”

“what the fuck was i supposed to think after that text, huh?!” you bury your face in your hands, realizing just how stupid this whole plan was. now you have to come clean, and he might not even believe you. you take a deep breath and raise your gaze to meet his, that’s eagerly waiting for an explanation.

“it wasn’t meant for anyone else, it was meant for you, all along.” he doesn’t seem to understand, so you continue. “i sent that text to get your attention.”

you break the eye contact, looking down at your feet. you feel ashamed and pathetic and his piercing gaze is not exactly helping. the few second of silence that falls on the room feels never-ending and suffocating. you want to say something but you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head, let alone talk. he breaks the overwhelming quiet with a relieved sigh. you can feel him get closer to you, one hand grabs your waist, the other slips under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“it worked, i guess.” he smiles, faintly.

“why were you ignoring me?”

“cause.. uncertainty was better than accepting the fact that you might want to end this… and then you sent me that text today, and i just… i thought you moved on.”

“oh, tae..” you almost break down crying when you realize what you did. he wasn’t mad, like you thought, he was just scared of losing you, and you just fueled his concern.

“i would never do that to you.”

you bring your arms up to cup his face but he precedes you with the act and before you would even realize it, his lips are crashing against yours. you don’t waste so much time either and kiss him back immediately, one hand running through his soft, dark hair, while the other wraps around his shoulders so you can pull him closer. seconds turn into minutes like this and you get so lost in the moment that you forget why did he came here in the first place. after slowly separating, you are standing there, with both hands intertwined, foreheads still touched together.

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about.” taehyung says, raising his head a little so he can look at you.

“probably something stupid.”

“and you sent me that text to get my attention? that was the only reason?” he changes the subject, you can tell that it’s still bothering him.

“well.. not really.” you reply, but seeing that look on his face makes you regret it a little, so you quickly add, “you look hot when you’re pissed off.”

he sighs in relief, shaking his head, then looks back at you with the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. “you make me crazy, you brat.”

“i love you.”

“i love you more.”

[amanitaphalloides]

what is the jopkey manifesto. if you can share it for those of us not in the gc 🥺

anon thank you for asking this question i have been trying and trying to bait someone into asking. here is it copy and pasted

Jopkey: A Manifesto

Jopkey in Brief

Jopkey refers to the romantic/erotic pairing of Thomas Jopson and Cornelius Hickey, a couple of guys who actually existed in real life and have been twisted into something beyond recognition by Dan Simmons, AMC, and now random people online such as us. Jopkey is commonly referred to as “the thinking person’s Terror ship” due to it kinda making you think.

Arguments For Jopkey

Let us review the nuanced and delicate appeal of Jopkey.

Potential Dynamics

Two tops fight to the death. In this formulation, Jopson and Hickey fight (mentally or physically) for dominance until one of them is (mentally or physically) dead. And they’re both tops. Credit Hannah @groundwater for being insistent about this final point.

Daddy’s candy babies. A popular (loose definition of the word) dynamic in which Jopson and Hickey are equally devoted to pursuing Francis Crozier’s attentions. But in doing so they find themselves irrevocably drawn to their freakass competitor…

Realizing potential. Jopson and Hickey recognize, in each other, great untapped potential—perhaps to be annoying and evil, but perhaps also to be intriguing, exciting, and to live life to the fullest. Whether intentionally or otherwise, they spur each other to explore all life has to offer them. Which given the circumstances isn’t that much.

Situations in Which Jopkey Could Happen

Hatefucking at any time.

Everyone else dies and they have to repopulate the ships.

Angry grief sex after Crozier dies. Perhaps over his casket?

Hickey happens upon Jopson’s half-dead form and attempts to eat him. Jopson simply responds, eat this.

Pertinent Jopkey Moments

“I’ll be there in a minute, Jopson.” Hickey refuses to call him lieutenant. Hot!

Jopson’s mouth twitches while watching Hickey be punished as a boy. Glee, eroticism, or simply an expression of sympathetic pain? Perhaps all three. 

When Hickey picks up Neptune's turd he says "Sorry sir the dog relieved himself before I could call Mr Jopson." This implies he has watched Jopson pick up dog shit before and would feel comfortable calling Jopson for help. Hickey doing a task that he thinks should be Jopson's = they have so much in common.

This is also an early indication of their dynamic wherein they see their respective relationships to Crozier overlap. See "Daddy's candy babies" under Potential Dynamics above.

Jopson guards Hickey while he’s on tent arrest. Hickey teases Jopson about his shooting abilities with his hand down his pants, Jopson brags about all the critters he used to kill and eat and says “My aim’s just fine Mr. Hickey” sexily. Implies Hickey is also a critter to be skinned and devoured! Okay!

During this scene Hickey is touching his own penis and Jopson puts his hand in his own mouth. Through the transference property this means that they have had oral sex.

They appear next to one another in the list of Terror crew members in a published book in the gift shop of the National Maritime Museum as pictured here (ie they are cuddling):

Arguments Against Jopkey

Despite the cold hard facts/group delusion depending on your perspective, some people are anti-Jopkey. Let’s take a look at the common reasons behind this unfortunate sentiment and resolve them one by one.

Anti-Jopkey Arguments and Resolutions

"Jopson simply does not think of Hickey."

Fortunately this is easily disputed. Jopson is constantly looking at Hickey like ARGH. Also we use our little imaginations. Sooooo.

The anti-Jopkey contingency argues "that’s just Liam Garrigan’s face" (re. point 2 in the above).

A typical argument and quite a simple one to dispel! We only need apply the “say yes to the text” ethos—by which we understand that everything present in the text is there to be explored and enjoyed, quite separate from the circumstances of its creation. Jopkey is not so weak as to be dependent upon the actors’ intentions. Regardless of whether or not AMC’s The Terror was filmed with the specific and singular intention of breathing life into Jopkey (which it was), all that truly matters is the effect. And ultimately the effect of Liam Garrigan’s face is eroticism, glee, intrigue, sympathy, and perhaps even romance.

The truth is there will never be consensus in the group chat or in the world, and Jopkey will never be true or untrue. It will remain Schrodinger’s Jopkey, and by offering insight into our psyches and groupthink dynamics, it is actually a vital and beautiful step towards world peace.

Jopkey Bangers

I Fucking Hate You - Godsmack

Since You’ve Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson

I Knew You Were Trouble - Taylor Swift

Jopkey Mood Board

Affirmations for Jopkeyers

I am so smart for shipping Jopkey.

My phone knows the word Jopkey. It knows that I am not typing about Jockey.

I understand British accents perfectly. Every word Jopkey says is comprehensible to me.

My words and actions honor Jopkey and my Jopkeyer compatriots.

I can think completely secret erotic Jopkey thoughts on this bus; my brain is closed to psychic attacks from the bus driver and other passengers.

I know who these characters are; I can tell them apart from other light-haired and dark-haired men who appear onscreen together. I can recognize their interactions as unequivocally Jopkey.

The Jopkey Anthem

O Jopkey Jopkey! Of thee I sing!

With Jopkey I can do anything!

Jopkey helps me laugh and play

So I ship Jopkey every day! 

Thomas Jopson — You always wow!

I know who you are by now

When first I watched I couldn't see

But you're not just Muttonchops #3

And Hickey lad with your sly grin

Reminiscent of delicious sin

Could you really be so wrong?

Not according to my Jopkey song!

[alternate hickey apologist verse] And Hickey — the perfect man!

Through thick and thin we’ll always stan

You’ve never done nothin’ wrong

And so to you we sing this song !

I pray this ship will never sink

Lest we approach the mental brink

May Jopkey sail forevermore

And far outlive Lieutenant Gore.

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as their natal charts: woozi

sun in sagittarius, moon in aries

he loves a good challenge, his straightforward and self-assured personality can make him come off as arrogant but he's not like that; this man won't accept anything but the truth, he's fearless and very generous to people he loves, enjoys solitude just as much as he loves big crowds (but not being the center of attention there)

'looks like it's gonna be hard,' you mutter, staring at bunch of documents in front of you. 'do you think you can-'

'i know i can,' jihoon interrupts, not even bothering to look up.

you nod. jihoon's curt answer may have irritated other people, but not you. after working together for almost half a year, you realized that these kind of replies from him are simple statements of facts, not just arrogant atempts of showing off. still, you ask: 'need any help?'

jihoon blinks, finally looking up from his laptop. no one really sticks around with him, always uncomfortable with his silence or too straightforward manners, so your question surprises him. you, in general, surprise him in many ways and part of him desperately wants to reach out, because he may or may not have written dozen songs about your eyes and how your smile makes his day better. 'um,' he lets out eloquently. 'only if you're okay with helping.'

you nod and he breathes out in relief, shutting his laptop. work is easier with you, huge pile of documents gets sorted out much faster with two pair of hands and jihoon nods in satisfaction as you finish the last one. 'thank you,' he says sincerely. you smile and your smile makes him feel... things. makes him want to get upclose and personal with this smile, maybe even be the reason behind it. he's not dumb, he knows there might not be any other chance, so he barrels on: 'do you have plans for tonight?'

jihoon is certainly not the one to beat around the bush, but you're still surprised, looking up at him. 'you're asking because..?'

'i heard new thai place opened around here, thought it'd be good to try it out,' he meets your gaze, looking serious and confident. 'i'd like to treat you, if you're free.' and then, because if he started he has to go until the end, giving all in, he adds to clear things up: 'it's a date.'

silence that stretches makes him nervous, but when smile blossoms on your face and your cheeks color just a tiny bit, he thinks that risks always are worth taking in the end. smile stretches his own lips and he mirrors your excitement: 'i'll take that smile for a 'yes' then?'

he doesn't tell you that he heard you talking about really wanting to try out that place and nor does he tell you that he already went there and tried out bunch of dishes, just so he would know what to order when he'll finally get the courage to ask you out. you nod at him and something else twirls inside of his chest, warming it up. something akin to hope, that he thinks will turn out just great.

in relationship he can sometimes be insensitive and have a temper, but willl ultimately be the most protective partner ever! he longs for domesticity and is very much 'i don't see anyone but you' type when he's in love, he needs someone who's good at avoiding conflicts and can sometimes push him to change

'jihoon, that was too rude,' you say, closing the door with a loud sigh.

'he had his hands all over you,' jihoon huffs, shaking his coat off angrily. he doesn't get jealous easily and rarely has problems with other people, but his protective instincts flare up whenever someone gets too familiar with you. 'and you looked anxious, you know i can't just stay still at times like that.'

'i thought you didn't see,' you mumble quietly enough but of course jihoon catches it.

he grabs your hand, pulling you closer to him. 'i'm always looking at you,' he says seriously, not understanding how your heart flutters at those words. 'babe, i- i'm looking only at you. even when we are surrounded by other people, my eyes are always on you.'

and it's the truth. he keeps his eyes on you not in some creepy way, but just looking at you grounds him, he checks on you cause need to make sure you're fine is exactly what it is - a need. you smile at him, but still don't let go of the situation, telling him that he took everything too far. jihoon nods, knows that you're right, but he also knows that you won't ever nag him about it. this is the best thing about you, how you let something not critical go, knowing him too well. 'that was probably too rude, okay. you know i won't go and apologize to him, he did make you uncomfortable and i won't stand for that, ever.'

you sigh fondly, reaching out to caress his cheek softly. 'i know,' you say. 'my protector.' you didn't say it in a mocking way and jihoon knows it. he really is your protector in the sweetest and purest way; someone who you always wanted and never thought you'd have.

'i'll always protect you,' he says matter-or-factly with no traces of joke in his voice. but then his face changes as he shyly suggests: 'let's drink some tea?'

you almost laugh at this, but hold back. nodding, you lean in, smiling when he pecks your lips and both of your cheeks lovingly. never have you ever thought that jihoon will be like this, this protective and this caring at the same time. 'let's,' you agree easily.

you drop the conflict before it could grow big, because it's not worth it. nothing is really worth it at the face of jihoon's wide smile as he understands that the subject is dropped and that you're not angry at him anymore. sometimes words are not needed and silent understanding that passes between you two is more important. he hugs you tight and that's all that's needed as you both settle into comfortable domesticity, the one you both protect fiercely and put above everything else.

a/n: a bit surprising for jihoon i think, but i love his chart so much!!

my masterlist is here

taglist @prpldahy

[emblazons]

Thinking about how people who only (or primarily) understand Mike’s arc through a “hes queer and coming to accept it / struggling with heteronormativity/will get his happy ending when he gets with Will” lens are missing at least half of what defines his arc in the wider context / themes of the show.

Forewarning: long post (& also maybe an unpopular opinion)

Even as a queer person myself, I know that his arc isn’t solely about embracing his queerness (though it’s inherently interlinked). In Mike, you have a character who is being radically challenged by both external circumstances and his own decisions through a journey away from all kinds of forced conformity (social, familial, romantic & heteronormative) and into someone self actualized enough to live how they want…while also being strong enough to accept that they made mistakes along the way. Someone who is learning to be brave enough to say “this is who I am, what I enjoy, and what/who I love…and while it took me a lot of time to figure it out, now I can exist in the world embracing that even though it will take consistently resisting the tendency to accommodate people who think it’s unacceptable.”

Like. Even from a time before puberty (see: S3) Mike wants a life that stands apart from what’s expected of him in every area, not just in choosing a romantic relationship with another guy. He wants to continue to be a nerd and “child at heart” even though something else is repeatedly demanded of him by everyone from his parents to El in his romantic relationship. He wants to be a writer and someone who takes those nerdy interests into his adult life (cue aggressive gesturing toward the duffers themselves) and grates against all that’s been constructed for him even when he’s not (yet) brave enough to challenge it directly. Mike liking boys/loving Will is just “the final nail in the coffin” of his social and societal nonconformity—not the first (or the last) aspect of what makes him different from Hawkins or the life he was made to believe would suit him best.

Even the fact that Mike has a desire to be “normal” comes from an insecurity and fear that choosing what he truly wants will lead to him being outcasted and losing the people he cares for entirely—which is partially motivated by his queerness yes, but that also has a basis in his general interests and personality…which becomes especially obvious when you realize we are repeatedly shown that he is punished/has his wishes ignored in all areas he doesn’t conform, even long before we get into a plot where it’s clearer he likes boys.

We see it in how his parents have already started to demand he put boundaries on the time he spends playing his “childhood games” the very first scene of season one, how they demand social acceptable emotions from him when Will is missing, and how Karen & Ted want him to give up toys in S2 when he’s showing signs of depression (because they think the issue is him growing up, not that he’s struggling with loss or guilt for what happened to El).

We see it in how his own father comments about taking his CA trip away from him after calling Hellfire being a group for “dropouts” in S4 (implying that he is failing on an academic and social level that matters to wheelers—and that Nancy is good at).

We even see it in the way everyone from his bullies to his own girlfriend threaten and take things away from him when he doesn’t conform to social expectations...from Troy telling him to jump off the cliff to save Dustin in S1 (as punishment for the one time Mike stands up for himself in the gymnasium) to El jumping straight into breaking up with him and spying on him when he doesn’t do exactly what she wants him to in Season 3.

All of these moments are critical to understanding Mike as a person because they show us that, even without addressing his queerness, Mike’s desire to conform to socialized expectations involves but is not solely about him moving out of heteronormativity—it’s about him moving against everything that WASP, patriarchal, heteronormative and capitalistic and performative “wholesome American” values…and how he is learning to move past the fear of what will happen if he steps outside the lines in general, even though he already knows he hates those standards.

Mike’s “coming of age” arc is about finding the strength to choose the “path less traveled” in all areas of his life—even when it means (potentially) losing the support of the people he cares about. It’s about starting from a place of privilege and becoming okay with being outcasted from it in a way your insecurities never let you be before (which is inherently different than Will, who has always been shown to have some kind of support not just for his queerness but his artistic endeavors as well). Mike’s lack of support is why he starts from a place of deep insecurity, yes—but it’s also why him learning power of choosing to be himself, even if it means “losing” people when he’s honest about who (& what) he is will be universally powerful.

You don’t need to be queer to understand the power of what it means to know you will be okay even if people leave you. You don’t need to be queer to understand the power of stepping outside social expectations or your family’s way of raising you. You don’t even need to be queer to understand the weight of breaking up with someone you were only with to satisfy what you thought you should do, rather than be with who you want to.

The power of being strong enough to overcome your insecurities in order to “step out of line” and live and love as you want to is universal, and a stunningly brave choice no matter what or why you chose to do so. The fact that Will will be there waiting to love him in that honesty with himself is beautiful, yes—but it’s not the only lesson to be learned for Mike’s character.

Mike starting out with everything the world (or, at least America) tells would make you happy, realizing he is not happy with those things and rejecting them knowing it might have consequences is what makes his arc powerful, because he is learning (exactly like his sister Nancy) to be brave enough to accept those consequences (which for him are getting dumped, and feeling like he’s being left behind by some of his friends) to follow his own heart.

Even though The Duffers aren’t writing this into a tragic ending (aka: he’s not going to die or be left alone, because the duffers writing is inherently designed ro champion the outcast), these are the things that have (and will) make him relatable even to an audience that doesn’t know queerness. Erasing the fact that his lesson is the bravery it takes to follow your heart solely to talk about him liking guys (even Will) is to undermine his humanity, and the lessons to be learned from him by even the most general an audience.

TL:DR - the heteronormative aspect of Mike’s character is not the sole or even inherent issue within Mike, though heteronormativity is inherently built into his struggle.

There are deep dives on how his arc is also about a war against toxic patriarchy, toxic masculinity, emphasis on capitalistic and academic accomplishments over artistic ones, and even conformist relationships (whether they’re queer or not) that should be explored for his character—and I for one like him too much not to move out of just “this boy is queer because xyz” and into “let’s talk about Mike in terms of the wider scope of his cultural context and upbringing.” 🤷🏽‍♀️😂

[blueblurseptember]

damn. can't stop thinking about binghe being shen yuan's comfort character in his previous life now. idk, but i am simply convinced that shen yuan has had the childhood of a typical asian middle child, made worse by the fact that he's from a rich family. all his little quirks and oddities would actually make a whole god awful lot of sense too if that were the case. like it would just makes sense.

ofc nobody else would be as good in watering down their feelings, devaluing their positive qualities, and underestimating their ability to make any real impact (on anyone they of value) than a second child who grew up often compared to the first and had been, intentionally or unintentionally, made to feel like they never have or never will measure up or measure enough.

i think it's also why of all the moments, he only genuinely started to understand binghe's true feelings when binghe began going off about feeling unwanted and never being enough to make anyone stay. all those feelings, those exact insecurities too, despite himself, he understood well enough bc he'd lived with them his entire life. even built half of his personality and put up most of the mental and emotional walls he have up to cope with them.

for so long, he'd seen binghe, post-abyss, as someone so unlike him. as far as he's concerned he's just some average guy who needs to learn how to settle with whatever life gives him bc he'll never be good enough to really, really achieve things. binghe, on the other hand, is an OP protagonist destined for greatness, to have everything and everyone he can ever want, to be chosen by anything or anyone he chooses.

they can't be any more different!!! except as it turns out, casting roles aside, binghe doesn't feel any differently about himself as shen yuan feels about his own self. and worse of all, and he's realized this too, that he's the last straw that got binghe feeling so strongly that way about himself.

anywaY, yes. binghe as shen yuan's comfort character—hoo boy, yes. he would soooo love a character like the original flavor binghe, alright. middle child who's constantly made to feel like he'll never be enough would totally love the living hell out of a white lotus who's constantly treated like a lesser being by the people around him only to emerge as a blackened OP protagonist who finally has achieved power not just over his life but the whole fucking world!!!

even before binghe turned real, he's helped shen yuan embrace, even just a little, his own feelings. they really are soul mates, idk, god.

[myfandomprompts]

Dubious Headlines | Aemond Short Story (Part 3/3)

Aemond x Reader Modern!AU [Part 1/ Part 2]

Synopsis: In a world where Dragon Incorporation is the most powerful firm in town, Rhaenyra Targaryen's last announcement sends you, a journalist, to interview the younger sons of the family. However, you did not ask for any of this.

Warning: Fluff, but not only

You had a wet dream. Or at least you thought you had, it was all still foggy. The signs were there though, you had awoken abruptly, heart beating at a fast rate, slightly panting and more importantly, a sore feeling between your legs.

You sat up in the dark as it slowly came back to you, images of long silver-hair and a soft voice speaking into your ear as you heard yourself moan loudly like a distant echo.

When you realised what, or rather of who your dream had been about you shook your head at once, attempting to chase these thoughts off your mind.

You had a big day ahead of you and you needed a cool shower.

“It’s your lucky day!”

You stopped your typing to look up at your boss towering over you with a big smile on his face.

“It is?”

“Yes, a request came up, something about an art gallery opening in town, and they chose us to be the prime reviewers. I know you’ve been waiting for that sort of exclusivity for a long time.”

Why does this sound familiar?

“What sort of art gallery?” you asked warily.

“Specifically paintings, I believe. This came from one of our correspondents at Dragon Inc. From what I understand, it’s founded by one of their branches.”

Of course. It didn’t take long, it was only a week and a half ago that you had seen Aemond Targaryen at the inauguration. At least in the real world. For now you kept your emotions at bay.

“And they requested me?”

“Not you particularly, but who else would I put on the case than my best writer?” he joked, putting a paper on your desk and leaving with a proud smile.

“Yeah…” you breathed out as you looked at the info you needed, “Who else…”

It was a beautiful building, with large glass windows and high ceiling, and as you entered the lobby, worrying over the fact that you might be greeted by the quite cold assistant whom you had over the phone to make the appointment, you were relieved to see only an attendant sitting boringly behind a reception desk. You looked at your watch, ensuring that you were on time as you walked toward him to announce yourself, but someone came out of an adjacent door and you stopped in your tracks.

The sight of Aemond Targaryen appearing in your line of vision instantly made you think about the dream you had recently, making it very real for a moment. You got lost in the memory and by the time you had managed to get rid of one particular vivid image, he had levelled with you.

“Miss. L/N? Y/N?” he called again.

His voice made you snap out of your reveries and you realised that you had not talked at all since he had approached you. You tried to appear as natural as possible as you took control of yourself again, ignoring the fact that his hand was on your shoulder as you finally spoke, “Good afternoon, sorry-” you cleared your throat. “Thank you for having me, M. Targaryen. I hope I am not late.”

“Not at all, right on time,” he said, letting his hand fall from your shoulder to reply to your handshake. “And please, call me Aemond.”

His hold on your palm lingered far longer than necessary and you were unable to react, too occupied with the thought of how calling him by his first name would sound strange to you. Or maybe you would like it.

Yes, you definitely would.

“Very well then I shall,” you smiled as you took in your surroundings. “This is a very nice place. Do you own it?”

“My mother does. She uses it for her own private events and exposition such as this.”

You looked at the stone walls and warm lights that illuminated the elegantly decorated lobby, sighting only a part of what you assumed would be the exhibition room.

“Will your mother be joining us? I always admired her taste in art, she is a wonderful patron, I would love to have her insight on this.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, perfectly aware that you and his mother would have got along greatly. “Unfortunately, she won’t. I’m afraid that she had other matters to attend to. But she will be here at the opening.”

Your disappointed look sent a pang in his heart but he did not feel bad about it. He had told his mother earlier that her presence was not requested for your coming, that he would handle it alone. It was a calculated decision, one that he did not regret. You had come alone, so did he.

“Oh, that’s a shame…” you quietly said, taking your pad out. “When is the opening exactly?”

“Next week. Tuesday night.”

“And you need The Westerosi to advertise it enough beforehand for people to come to it, correct?”

“Correct.” Among other things.

You smiled at him, lowering your pen as you finished your note. “Alright, then let’s see it!”

Aemond returned your smile and extended his arm in order to let you pass, leading you to the exhibition room.

It was pretty big, warmly lit, contrasting with the usual bright lights of the museums, and you could only guess the length of the room because tall panels that were placed along both the walls and in the centre were hiding the end of it. You could see sofas and chairs placed here and there, surely to allow potential buyers to sit and admire the numerous paintings that hung on the walls and panels.

“This is quite the exposition, how many artworks do you have on display here?” you asked, walking toward the first painting on the left.

“Over forty. It is a few, but we have room for more.”

He was following your every step, arms clasped behind his back, watching how your mouth opened slightly each time you focused on one of the frames. “And will the exhibitors all be present next Tuesday?” you asked as you admired a mural representing two robotical birds over a white background.

“Not all of them,” Aemond said with a slight apologetic tone, “But enough so you have something to write about. If you decide to attend next week, of course.”

You gave him a side glance at his words, finding it amusing that he believed that you would not be returning. As if .

“You can count on me to be there, Aemond, I wouldn’t miss it. From what I see this is really worth it.”

He knew that asking you to call him by his first name had been a mistake. Now all he could think about was how nice it sounded and all the different ways he wanted you to say it.

You took some more notes as you asked him technical questions, about the choice of the artists, and how his own preferences and his mother’s had influenced what to display. “Do you paint yourself? Or your mother?”

“No, I hardly would have the time. And my mother is also just an observer, although she takes great pride in my sister’s drawings. She is the one with the artistic fibre.”

“Your sister Helaena?” you presumed, hardly picturing a woman like Rhaenyra draw in her free time.

“The very one,” he replied, following you as you kept advancing to admire the next painting. “Do you paint or draw?”

“Oh no. My grandfather was the painter, but apart from my aunt no one in my family can even draw a cloud.”

This was an obvious exaggeration, but it had the merit to make Aemond laugh. “I see. We all must find our talent in different places, I guess. I’m sure you have many skills besides writing.”

You blushed a bit as you examined a very small canvas, trying to see what it exactly represented. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I may write for a living but for everything else, I would call it hobbies instead of skills. Skills must be forged by practice.”

“I agree. To find in art what is worth admiring and what is not is a talent that we acquire over time, I’m just glad I had my mother to teach me from an early age the meaning of beauty.”

You had reached an area where tables had been placed among the panels, certainly intended for future glasses or food to be served for the opening.

You turned to him. “Because you believe that beauty is what makes art worthy of admiration? Not talent or its message?”

“Of course it does too, but we are mainly attracted to what we find beautiful in our eyes. Don’t you find yourself staring at something beautiful and intriguing longer than at something you don’t truly understand?”

You had both stopped walking and were now staring at each other, his gaze growing more intense by the minute as his words hang into the air, their meaning taking a whole new dimension. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“This... is an interesting theory from someone who hasn’t shown interest in any of the paintings he owns yet. Shall we test it? Show me the work you find the most beautiful to look at and I’ll make my own opinion,” you said, gesturing towards the many sketches frames around you.

But Aemond’s face lit up as if he had won the lottery, and remained perfectly still and silent. His eye was boring into you and you grew uneasy, asking yourself what exactly he did not understand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a little confused.

“I’m looking at you.”

His voice had dropped several octaves lower and you felt your cheeks reddened.

“Why?”

“Do I truly need to say it out loud?”

He had scoffed, but his expression was serious, and you could not help but straighten as he got closer.

“A-actually I’d rather not,” you shyly said.

“Really? And why is that?”

“Because… if you do, I’m afraid that this interview will become very… unprofessional.”

He arched a brow but remained composed, taking several steps further, whereas you struggled to keep a straight face, feeling crushed under his gaze. He was closing in on you and you felt him reach out to your pad and pen in your hands to gently remove them from your grasp.

“And what exactly,” he said as he discarded your belongings on the table behind you, his face almost brushing against yours, “is it that would make this ‘unprofessional’?”

He was so close that you had to look up in order to hold his gaze because of how tall he was, without mentioning how good he smelled.

“By doing this…?” You sensed his fingers trail along the inside of your wrist and up over your arm, eliciting goosebumps all over it. He then went up to your shoulder, brushing your hair away from your neck as he cupped your cheek, his eye fascinated in the way your skin reacted to his touch.

“Or…”

He had only breathed out his last word, voice oh so very low into your ears as he took hold of your chin, slightly pressing his thumb over your lower lips, and you had to close your eyes in order to repress a moan.

“Aemond…” you warned, feeling your body ready to burst into flames.

He hissed at that, the sound of his name rolling out of your tongue sending electricity down his spine. He was enthralled by you, how you looked, how you felt, how you melted under his touch. He hadn’t expected to give into his desire so quickly, but here he was. He felt your hands crept up to flatten against his chest, looking for more contact. You looked, no, you felt exquisite.

“Tell me Y/N, tell me because otherwise I might be about to make a big mistake.”

You opened your eyes again, meeting his dilated pupils locked onto your lips, and you further grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, feeling the warmth of his burning skin through the fabric. Then his eye darted from your darkened eyes and to your alluring lips again, before strengthening his grasp on the back of your neck and finally closing the distance.

You could not register anything else around you apart from how soft his lips felt against yours and the way his fingers delicately brushed your neck, making a whine escape your throat as he slowly kissed you, his taste so sweet and maddening that you wondered how you had survived without it until now.

You did not know for how long it lasted, but by the time you had to part for air, leaving both of you breathless, you realised that your phone was vibrating into your vest’s inner pocket.

You heard Aemond growl as he heard it too, coming to rest his forehead against your own as he closed his eyes in frustration. “If you don’t take that thing off, I swear I’ll break it.”

You could only display a wicked smile on your face, amused at his impatience before letting go of his chest and reach for your phone, but your movement was apparently too slow for Aemond who unexpectedly detached himself from you and began to take off your blazer in a swift motion before tossing it to the side, your now silent phone with it.

Without wasting a second Aemond had grabbed you again and was kissing you more passionately than before, making you back off to collide with the table behind you and wrap your arms around his shoulders in order to respond to his eagerness. You tangled your fingers into his hair, enjoying the silkiness of it and making him groan into your mouth slightly, holding on to you tighter.

“I’m starting to believe that this whole reviewing thing was only a plan in order to get me alone with you,” you said.

He smiled against your skin, one of his hands travelling from your shoulder to your waist as he began to trace small kisses along your neck. “Maybe it was... In any case, I’ll still need that article published, positive or not. I don’t even care at the moment.”

You felt his mouth reach the junction where your neck met your shoulder, and you bit your lips at the delicious sensation.

“I’m afraid that I’m too… biased to write anything bad about it now,” you managed to breathe out.

His low chuckle resonated into your very being before he moved to your face again, his smirk hovering over your lips.

“Mh. And here I was, thinking that you were the very definition of professional.”

You gave him a fake offended look, smiling at his words as he leaned into you again. His kiss was growing more insistent, keen and you felt your body heat up.

“There aren’t any… cameras in here, right?” you asked timidly between two hungry kisses, thinking about the attendant in the next room.

“No, there are not,” he laughed, coming back to brush his nose against yours. “Why, afraid to cause a little scandal?”

You considered your position, stuck between the man you desired and the low table, one of your clothes on the floor and pretty aroused. It didn’t help that Aemond had taken hold of your hips and flushed you against him.

“The only thing I’ll cause is that if you don’t start kissing me again right now I’ll write the most scandalous article about you you’ve ever seen. Even your brother’s acts won’t be able to match.”

He was stunned for a moment before finding his composure again, his demeanour shifting into an intensity that was not there before and whispered:

“And we don’t want that…”

When he kissed you again, you concluded that now, it was you who owed Mathilda a favour. A big one.

I really liked writing this. I have some ideas for another part but I like how this one ends, and I have a million of other Aemond Oneshots ideas so we'll see!

@khaleesihavilliard@dollfaceyourfear@cecespizza01@julczimozart@missusnora/ @bb-swift@cbfvip / @depressedperson88 / @nitimurinvetitumsposts@this-is-a-bad-idea / @issshhh /@virginslut08 @boofy1998 / @tssf-imagines / @theeddiebrainr0t

[trashpandato]

Spookycorp

Kara hasn't even fully closed the door behind her when small legs come running towards her. She turns just in time to catch Esme in her arms.

“Aunt Kara!”

Kara winces a little at the loud greeting, but she wraps her arms around her little niece anyway. When she pulls back enough to get an actual look at her, and at Lena, who’s hovering nearby in the kitchen, she’s lost for words.

Esme looks like a miniature version of Lena. They’re both wearing a white, flowy blouse, a black vest and black pants. Esme even curled her hair in a way that looks exactly like Lena’s.

“Hi Bug,” Kara stutters out. “You look…nice.”

Esme squirms excitedly and Kara decides to set her back down. Esme grins and does a quick twirl and then runs over to the coffee table to grab what looks like a small, leather-bound grimoire.

“I’m Aunt Lena!”

“I can see that,” Kara nods. “Is there, um, what’s the occasion?”

“We’re going to get candy!” Esme squeals.

It’s then that Lena finally speaks. “What she means is that we are taking her trick or treating later.”

“Ah. Okay. And the, um, the outfit?”

“Well, you see, Esme told me this morning that she wanted to be a witch for Halloween. But when I took her to the costume store, she didn’t like any of the costumes they had there.”

“Witches don’t wear pointy hats,” Esme exclaims, her little fists propped against her hips. 

Slowly, Kara is beginning to understand.

“Right. So, this is a witch costume?” 

“Yes! Because Aunt Lena is a witch. And I look like her now.”

Kara smiles, then. “You really do.”

Before Kara can say anything else, Esme runs toward the living room, where Kara can hear Kelly and Alex arguing about how much candy Esme should be allowed to bring home. She turns to Lena and presses a short kiss against her lips.

“Hi.”

“Mm. Hey,” Lena whispers. “Sorry about the ambush. I was going to text you that your sister showed up with Esme and Kelly, but then I got sidetracked with getting this costume situation sorted out.”

Kara chuckles a little. “All good. But,” she pauses, trying to catch Lena’s gaze, “are you okay with this? I’m sure Esme is going to tell anyone within earshot that she’s a witch, and well…”

“And she looks like me,” Lena finishes for her.

Kara nods.

“Yes, darling. I’m fine with it. I doubt anyone will recognize me, or understand the real meaning behind the costume. And if someone does, well, J’onn has offered to alter some memories if necessary.”

And that puts Kara’s mind at ease. She’s sure that Lena is right, that no one is really going to put two and two together and figure out that Lena is an actual, real life witch. But the fact that J’onn has offered to take care of things if it does happen makes her feel better.

Before Lena can explain more, Kelly appears in the kitchen, with Alex and Esme right behind her.

“Thank you for doing this,” Kelly says. It’s clear from her voice and her facial expression that she is truly grateful for whatever support they can get with raising Esme.

Kara beams. “Of course! I love going trick or treating!”

“Oh, I know that,” Kelly laughs before turning more to Lena. “I mostly meant thank you for, you know, rolling with this.” She waves her hands toward Esme, who is fiddling with her little grimoire.

Lena responds with a soft smile. “Anything for my god-daughter.”

When Kelly bends down to help Esme tie her shoes, Lena leans into Kara and whispers:

“Just so you know, I have a private trick or treat moment planned for us for later tonight. So maybe don’t eat too much candy. I wouldn’t want you to be out of commission due to a stomach ache.”

Kara blushes a little and swallows. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on, Aunt Kara, let’s go!” Esme yells, already half-way out the door.

Lena smirks. “Yes, Aunt Kara. Let’s go. We have a long evening ahead of us.”

-------

All of the prompts are also on AO3